


before you jump back into the light.

by spirallingnotes



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon Flashback, Psychological Torture, Violence, i mean we've all seen save the cat, not compliant with 'don't go', the archive tag is just me being safe i don't think it's particularly graphic, which was basically the main reason i wrote this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27133030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spirallingnotes/pseuds/spirallingnotes
Summary: "you think that the dark is a place you can dip into before you jump back into the light" ~ leach by bones ukAn insight into catra's psyche from the end of corridors (s5e3) to the end of the fight in save the cat (s5e5).
Relationships: Catra & Her Thoughts, Minor Adora/Catra - Relationship, well as minor as it can get for Catra
Comments: 10
Kudos: 67





	before you jump back into the light.

_"The Etherian ship has changed course."_

Two clones march her into a cell. It's probably Glimmer's old one but, if it is, there's no evidence of her presence. It smells chemical, like Horde Prime has been spraying it with disinfectant, wiping away all remnants of his failure. Or, knowing him, he had ordered one of the clones to do so, overtaking their body with a sickening crack like she had seen a few days before.

Catra tries and fails to stop herself from shaking, breaths entering and leaving her body like she's still running, still fighting, still has something to fight for. She's not scared. She's relieved. Assuming Sparkles hasn't died a horrible, oxygen-deprived death in space, she's safe with Adora - and Adora is safe. Adora is on her way to Etheria. She had done exactly what Catra had told her to do.

She's glad that Adora will live to see another day. And save Etheria or whatever. Adora won't have to enter the chilling halls of the ship and face Prime, who is nothing like Hordak, maybe worse than even Shadow Weaver. She's even relieved that Sparkles is safe. She would've never lasted long, with her emotional outbursts and her fucking _chair leg_ as her only weapon.

Catra can see why Adora likes her so much.

Curled up on the bed, she looks to the ceiling. She's not crying. She's not going to cry. She knows that she had tried her best to destroy everything that had ever been between them when they were kids, that there was nothing left of the two bright-eyed girls racing through the Fright Zone halls, nothing left for Adora to come for. She clutches her shoulders tighter, threatening to rip through the worn fabric of her right sleeve. She is cold and sweaty and exposed.

That's the problem with 'caring' about Adora. Nothing is ever easy. Nothing is ever simple. She cares about her so much that the idea of Adora coming back into the ship and putting herself in danger, real danger that Catra can't control, makes her feel physically ill. But Catra cares selfishly - she always has - and with that comes the constant pain of wanting Adora to care about her in the same way: more than logic and reason, more than self-preservation, more than anyone and everyone else. She wants Adora to care enough to come to save her.

No.

Catra doesn't need saving. She doesn't need anyone. There's no reason for Adora to come to the ship anymore: the girl that she cares about now - Glimmer - is gone. That's a good thing. She doesn't need Adora to swoop in with her dumb princess get-up, bringing her cold judgement. She doesn't need anyone.

She sits back on her haunches, breaths coming easier. She wonders what Prime will do to her. She wonders why she isn't dead.

What is he planning?

Catra guesses he might want to access her memories somehow, find out what she knows about the weapon, about Adora and about Etheria. It makes sense to her. And, though she shivers as she thinks of Hordak's gasp of pain as Prime knocked him out on their first day on the ship, or the screams of agony as he was electrocuted by that green pool, she thinks that there are worse things that could happen to her.

Which makes her think that she must be missing something.

From what she knows of Prime, which isn't a lot, he seems to pride himself on managing to say and do the most emotionally devastating thing he can manage at any given time. He is what Catra used to think she was, what she used to think she wanted to be, what she thought she had to be to run away from everyone and everything. But Prime does not run. He sits, he observes, and he gives you just enough rope to hang yourself with.

Catra begins to shake again.

She wishes she could feel as confident as she sounded when she had spoken to him. She wishes she felt as confident as she's acted these past couple of years as force captain, and the years before them as a cadet. She wishes that she didn't feel like a little kid again, hiding in dark corners, tensely awaiting cruel punishment.

She wishes -

Five Horde clones come rushing into the room. Catra's arms and legs are pinned to the bed before she can even move. She thrashes, teeth flashing as she twists her head in hopes of making contact with something.

"There is no need to fret, little sister," the one who isn't holding her down says. He is holding something that flashes silver under the cell's white light. Catra thrashes harder, wild and determined, even as she feels bruises being pressed into her skin.

The clone steps closer and she sees what it's holding - scissors. Why? Her thoughts stumble over one another, clamouring to the forefront of her mind in an almost deafening race. 

"The time has come to prepare you," he says.

"For what?" Catra pours as much malice as she can into those two words as she tries again to thrust her knee into the closest face. The grip on her leg tightens - almost burns - in response and the clone that seems to be leading the charge narrows his eyes. 

"That is not for you to know." He strides towards her, closer and closer until - 

Catra clamps her teeth on the metallic instrument, ignoring the click in her neck as she stretches. It cuts, shallow, across the hand of the clone holding her arm and she relishes the flicker of discontent that crosses his face. His grip loosens and she twists her hand, claws latching into the clone's wrist. 

He staggers away from her, as expected, and she almost smiles as the movement drags her from the bed. Her free arm swipes under the slab of metal and she grips the far edge, flexing her legs as she pulls away from her captors.

It's only as she falls to the floor, ungraceful in her urgency, that she remembers the prison cell only opens from the outside. The adrenaline leaves her in a rush, cold acceptance settling in its place. 

The clone that had held the scissors contorts as Prime takes over his body. He drags her up by her hair, ignoring how her legs cycle in the air, before throwing her against the far wall. The door to the cell opens.

 _Get up,_ a familiar voice instructs her. _Get up, Catra._

She digs her claws into the ground, trying to push herself upwards. Her stinging limbs send her crashing down once again. Prime smiles through his host as more clones line the doorway. And maybe she'd be able to take them if she weren’t so exhausted but instead, she lies on the floor, shuddering as the clones draw closer. 

"There was no need for these pathetic dramatics, little sister," Prime says in his sickeningly calm voice. The clones grab at her arms and legs, forcing her into a kneeling position. The Prime clone clutches the discarded scissors, grabbing her hair in his fist. He tugs it upwards, sending pain exploding across her scalp.

Her breath catches in her throat and she closes her eyes. She waits for the sharp pain across her neck or her chest. She waits for her lifeblood to leave her, to make a crimson mess on the floor that will be washed away less than an hour later. She waits for a lifetime of bad decisions and picking fights that she cannot win (and fights with people that don't deserve to lose) to catch up with her. 

Instead, she feels the iron grip on her head loosen by a fraction. She sees a long, dark strand fall to the floor. And another. The measured "snips" are almost buried beneath the roar of Catra's heartbeat, but they manage to worm their way into her eardrums. Again. And again.

When it is over, when the torturously slow minutes have passed, the white glow leaves the clone's eyes. He leans impossibly close to her face, cold breath sending the shallow scratches on the surface stinging. "Prime requires order from his servants," he hisses as the others release her, letting her slump back onto the floor.

She barely notices as they leave. 

The first time Catra cut her hair had been when she was 19 years old. She had attacked those grey tufts hanging from the sides of her face with her own claws, determined to erase any trace of that weak little girl, helpless to the whims of those around her. Even that had been hard, leaving her staring at the strands on the shower floor for longer than she wants to admit. 

She remembers a childhood filled with arguments with her commanding officers, most frequently Shadow Weaver, about her wild mane. At best it was a potential hazard; at worst it was a sign of her inability to ever succeed in a battle scenario, a sign of her lack of discipline, of selfish notions of vanity and lack of dedication. Either way, she was...encouraged to tie it back.

She still remembers the cold frigidity in her bones, the painful prickles of electricity against her skin as Shadow Weaver whispered poison in her ears. She remembers feeling like she was suffocating, long after the magic and the pain had faded away. She remembers the day she ascended to sophomore cadet, when Adora had woken her up in the middle of the night.

* * *

"Catra?" Adora shakes her shoulders, "hey, Catra?"

"Whaaat?" she grumbles. The day had been marred with another Shadow Weaver "argument", stirring up the feelings of resentment that had been plaguing Catra more and more as the years went on.

_I cannot understand why you insist on being so belligerent. Adora has no problem tying her hair back, neither does cadet Lonnie. Even Kyle, useless as he is, has the decency to keep his mop above his shoulders. You, on the other hand, despite your disgusting attitude and pitiful training record, seem to think you're somehow better than your fellow cadets. It's a wonder that Adora puts up with you at all._

"I wanna show you something," Adora breathes, eyes gleaming like sapphires in the darkness. She clutches Catra's hand, pulling her from her spot on the lower bunk that she'd claimed despite the day's events. They pad through the corridors, almost running.

"Adora, where are we -"

"Shhhh!"

"Adora, why are you dragging me to the Force Captain barracks?"

Shadow Weaver is going to kill them. Well - Catra at least. Adora's usually the one that understands that, but there's an infectious sort of light across her features tonight - her face shines with it. Catra's chest aches in a familiar way as Adora holds her hand, gentler than before. She leads Catra to a locker, like their own but a little wider. 

Adora sticks her tongue out of the side of her mouth, fiddling with the lock. "Aha!" she exclaims as it swings open, like they're not out of their quarters at 2am. The locker is crammed with stuff, different odds and ends that would be unremarkable if not for the smell - warm and earthy - not Fright Zone property.

"Adora," Catra hisses through her teeth, "please tell me that this is not what you dragged me here for. Tell me there's something else."

The other girl pouts. "I thought it was cool," she mumbles, letting go of Catra's hand to rummage with the middle shelf. _Come_ _back_ , Catra thinks.

"You can't even spell cool," is what she says instead, peering deeper inside the locker. "How'd you even find this?"

"I was helping one of the Force Captains sort out the weapon's closet earlier - I saw someone from the field put some more things in here."

"You couldn't have taken me to the weapons instead?"

Adora nudges her with her shoulder, but she's smiling as she does it.

"This is as close as we can get to the outside world," she says, tone taking on a more wistful quality as she goes on. She traces a finger over what looks to be a miniature person, made from some soft material. "I can't believe the Princesses get to have all this stuff." She looks at the locker like she'd managed to stumble upon a treasure trove and Catra wants so desperately to storm into the nearest stupid palace and strip it bare.

Footsteps echo from a distant corridor.

"C'mon. We'd better go," Adora sighs, turning away.

"Wait!" Catra says. She swipes the biggest thing she can see from the locker's shelves, holding it out to her friend. "Here."

"Catra, no, I can't, what if someone notices?"

She shrugs, trying to ignore the sting of rejection. "I guess it's mine then."

The footsteps are getting closer.

"Catra!" Adora hisses again, trying to grab the thing from her hands.

"Uh, pretty sure you said you didn't want it," Catra says, leaning away from her. It's stupid - she doesn't want it either, but she doesn't want Adora to be the one to snatch it away from her. The blonde girl lets out a short groan before slamming the locker shut again, fiddling with the lock until it clicks. They can't exactly run but they manage a hurried shambling motion until they're out of the barracks, twisting behind metal structures and boxes to avoid the surveillance bots.

It's only when they're back in their part of the Fright Zone that Catra gets a look at what she'd taken from the locker. It's oddly shaped - red with black details near the sharpest edges. When Adora's breathing slows, Catra sneaks out into their own locker-room. She makes her way to the mirror, turning the red thing round in her hands. She holds it up, with the black details at the top.

There's a divot in the back of it, she notices. Like it's meant to fit onto something. Moving on what feels like instinct, she pulls the thing onto her head, fingers twitching and tugging at it until it sits comfortably on her face.

It's freezing and sweeps her bangs upwards in a way that feels distinctly foreign, but she likes the way it makes her look. Sharp edges. She thinks the hair swept away from her face makes her seem a little taller as well, which is never a bad thing when your best friend seems insistent on growing faster than you. And, as she turns her head from side to side, she notices that it does stop her uncontrollable mass of hair from shifting quite as much, maybe enough that Shadow Weaver will have to move onto a different aspect of Catra's existence to criticise. Maybe.

* * *

She can't remember how long she sits there, on the floor, surrounded by almost two decades of hair. It's strange - how she still feels the phantom weight of it, tugging down the new, jagged tips. She doesn't cry; she's not that stupid. She feels her throat tighten, feels her eyes prickle, and digs her nails into her thighs as hard as she can. She's not going to cry over something so simple.

No clones come to bring her food, not that she would've eaten it if they had. Still, it figures that, even in space, Catra was not as important as a princess - Queen - whatever. She doesn't mind though. It's not like she cares about anything. She just wishes that she could stop shaking.

* * *

Eventually, they come for her.

Only three of them this time.

"Horde Prime requires your presence," one says. Two arms loop through her own, half-dragging her upwards. Her limbs feel stiff and painful. Catra closes her eyes. Breathe. It's not wise to show fear. Focus on something else.

Relief.

Adora would've probably keeled over if anyone came near her dumb little hair poof. More reason to be glad that she's not here. She's not as hard as Catra, never had any reason to be. She would not do well here. So, it's a good thing that she's not here.

They enter the auditorium with the shock pool in the centre, rows of clones lining the rafters. She can see Prime standing with his own entourage, cruel smile telling her what is to come. Breathe. 

"Little sister," Prime says when she is within earshot, "my heart aches for your tormented soul. You are blind to the salvation that I alone seek to give you. You swing wildly at my beloved servants. But that is not the way."

The clones along the edges of the room start to chant.

"My light shall cast away the darkest shadows hidden in your corrupted mind. You will join our flock."

The clones begin marching her to the green pool. A wave of panic threatens to overwhelm her. She swallows it. Repeat. She stares Prime right in the eyes; she's not going to give him the pleasure of seeing her crumble.

"Catra?" A voice calls out from behind her - Catra thinks she knows that voice better than her own. She came back. She was going to save her. She still cared. Catra twists round without thinking, eyes scanning frantically.

"Adora?" 

The door to the auditorium is closed. Prime and his clones have not moved. The room is still dull, dull, grey and white, no flashes of flaxen blonde or even the harsh gold of her princess form.

"Catra..." Prime tuts at her, same smirk plastered across his face. The clones throw her into the pool.

_"All beings must suffer to become pure."_

Catra has a basic understanding of how to swim, but the water seems to claw at her, pressing at her body until she sinks to the bottom of the pool.

_"All beings must suffer to become pure."_

And then the shocks start, fire across her veins, wrenching primal screams from within, swallowed again by the bitter water. 

_"All beings must suffer to become pure."_

Pain across every fibre of her being. Lungs burning. Body contorted in agony. Her vision is nothing but flashes of white and green.

The shocks stop. The ground beneath her feet rises, pushing her twitching body above the surface.

"Catra?" the voice calls again, and Catra turns again, pulled by a force beyond her control.

"What are you talking about? Glimmer is with you?"

The platform disappears and in an instant she is falling again, twisting and curling away from the pain that attacks her from every angle, away from herself. Flashes of white, flashes of green, white, white, white.

"Catra?" 

White, green, white, pain, searing, Adora, white, green - 

"Glimmer is with you?"'

White, green, grey, grey, white, green -

"Catra?"

Grey, green, grey, green, darker, darker, darker -

* * *

When she regains consciousness, it's nothing like she remembers. Her mind is full of other people's voices - literally this time. No, not people. The clones. And the voice at the centre of it all -

Prime.

Her body does not move; her vision is nothing but a circle of light at the end of a black and green tunnel. She can vaguely feel something on the back of her neck that she's pretty sure wasn't there before. She wants to reach her arm round to touch it, but her body does not obey.

"It is not your body," Prime mocks her. "You are mine, little sister." His voice echoes around within her head and she feels herself shrink somehow, sees the light get smaller ahead of her. She wants to cover her ears like she's small again, when words could lose their meaning if you simply chose to ignore them. But she can't hide within her own mind.

The thing at the back of her neck - some sort of chip, she decides, with the false confidence of somebody who had control over the situation - pulses atop her skin. It seems to be sapping at her energy, which wasn't exactly boundless to begin with. How long had it been since she'd drowned in that pool?

The voices in her head grow quieter. There's a command from Prime to the body (but not her, it seems to bypass her entirely in a way that leaves her feeling a strange sort of vertigo) which ambles forward mechanically. She strains her...her brain? To hear the voices of the other clones. Something is happening, she can tell. She catches snippets: "arrival"; "deception". The pulsing of the chip grows stronger, bringing with it a flood of memories.

Adora, age 4, laughing at Catra's attempt to roar like the older cadets. Adora, 9, wiping down her wounds. Adora laughing with their squadmates, beaming as she catches sight of Catra and tries to invite her over. Adora in the She ra get-up, slashing at robots in Thaymor. Adora - just Adora - punching her in the face.

"Hello, Adora," the body says. Her voice sounds unnatural, like some pathetic parody made by an even more pathetic excuse for a person. 

She can't hear the other girl, can't even see her, but Catra can tell she's somewhere near her. Adora says something clearer than the other bits of static - " _fight_ ", she thinks. How she's supposed to do that when she can't even move, she has no idea. Even if she could, she's too tired to fight anyone and she's far too... _something_ to want to fight Adora again.

Pain races across her skull as Prime taps the chip (she'd recognise his clammy grip anywhere) and the faint words slip away.

 _"See how naïve she is,” he_ says in her mind, _"how eager she is to exhaust you, to lead you to ruin."_

"Tell her what I have done for you," he says aloud.

More memories - Catra crying on Adora's old bunk, taking all of Shadow Weaver's physical attacks, the worst barbed insults. Childhood nightmares of being alone, nightmares of that little girl with the big blue-yellow eyes despising her for what she's done, nightmares about the portal. The Crimson Waste, Elberon, Salineas, alone on the cold Fright Zone floor after Double Trouble's taunts.

"Prime has given me peace," her body says, and Catra isn't exactly sure that it's wrong. The emotions are still there but they linger before layers and layers of cool numbness. It's uncomfortable, it doesn't feel like her, but maybe it could be better this way. Maybe this is all that is left for her.

She realises with a jolt that the body has carried her dangerously close to the other girl. She can tell that Adora's wearing that ancient Horde training jacket, less metal and rust and more lavender and daisies, but traces of the Fright Zone remain, even now. The blonde girl says something - _"let - go?"_

Is she hurting her? Catra thought she was done hurting Adora.

Horde Prime grabs her by the neck, squeezing hard. The pain distracts her from what she's saying once again, but for some reason the pinprick of light she sees seems to grow bigger and bigger.

For a split second, there is Adora, _really_ there. Stupid hair poof, loose strands of hair kissing her cheeks, same determined glint in her eye. There are guards holding her, just hard enough to restrain her, and she looks terrified.

For her?

 _"Little sister, here is your last chance to prove yourself to me. If you truly have as much...distaste for this girl as you say - strike her down."_ He must know the answer she's going to give him, having rummaged through her memories and all. Still, she imagines giving him the finger, as 'loudly' as she can.

"Very well." 

Her body moves jerkily, operating on whispered instructions. Lunges and punches, as sloppy as it gets. Adora twists her arm into a hold, one Catra remembers from training. A way to subdue your enemy with minimal force.

"Catra - still in there - be okay." She's reciting from the right script but Catra is not there to play her part - Catra can't do anything about it.

Stabbing jolts of pain wrack her right arm, while the other scratches at Adora's leg. Where's She-ra? Adora's never had any problem defeating her in her princess get up, so why isn't she in it? Something's wrong.

Her body is torturously close to Adora's, resting a chin on her shoulder, tracing a finger against her face. A small, terribly weak part of her wants to stay like this.

Adora flips Catra over her shoulder, sending her crashing against something that triggers jolts of electricity from the chip in her neck. 

"I don't want to hurt you," Catra hears, clear as anything, and she wants to laugh at the irony. She feels Prime siphoning her memories again, the emotions from them. He doesn't have to look very far.

"But you have already hurt me," she says. She thinks she might have imagined the sharp intake of breath that follows. 

The body is given more instructions - there are more punches. Adora punches back.

_Way to not hurt me._

_That's not fair._

"Catra!" 

Her body feels weightless, teetering on the edge of a cliff. Princess Prom. The chasm in the Whispering Woods. The body laughs, leaning backwards, moving through space.

And Adora catches her. Pulls her close. For a moment, Catra is in her body again, being hugged by the girl she has hurt so many times before. But Adora shouldn't be doing that, not ever, not now. The Battle of Bright Moon crosses her mind. She can't tell if it's Prime's doing or not, can't feel his hands moving the strings as clearly as before. She feels the body dig its claws into Adora's back. And she feels it swing Adora round, onto the edge of the cliff.

The panic she feels is almost as good at focusing her as the sharp bursts of pain had been. She can't move herself away from the cliff, doesn't quite have the strength to move her limbs. But she can try to stop them from moving at all.

Prime laughs in her head, cruel and piercing. She thinks he has her saying something to Adora, but he speaks louder to her.

_"You think your paltry attempts to seize control have any effect? I have no reason to want her dead...yet."_

And, as Catra knows, that is much worse.

Adora surges forwards, slams her again some sort of glass screen. The chip stings the back of her neck, feeling more intense than before. Adora...she needs to leave right now. White, green, grey, black, grey, green, white - she can't go through that - she _can't_. Catra won't let her.

"I'm not giving up on you Catra."

Prime calls her a fool, and for once Catra thinks she agrees. Adora needs to go - now. She's too fucking important to risk everything for a girl who has let her down too many times to count.

Heat crackles against her skin - white-hot - before her vision plunges into complete darkness once again.

* * *

When she wakes up, something has shifted. Her eyes are open, she can feel them open; she can see Adora, hair loose round her shoulders, leaning over her. Concerned. She can feel Prime's anger, his disbelief, the way he claws at the edges of her mind, determined to make her suffer. She knows that she doesn't have much time.

"Adora..." But what exactly is she supposed to say? Her thoughts are scattered; the chains that had linked so many assumptions and plans together lay broken in a dull abyss. She focuses on the obvious. "You should have stayed away."

There is no change in Adora's expression, she doesn't seem to realise how stupid this plan was. Prime is trying to conquer Etheria and Adora's here in the middle of space, running after Catra. Why? 

"Why did you come back? We both know I don't matter." 

"You matter to me," Adora chokes out, palm against her cheek, so gentle that Catra tears up. Her hands hurt as much as they did when she was a teenager, trying to push down feelings she had no chance at controlling. Catra never thought that Adora would be close enough to hurt her like that again, didn't think that she'd crave it so much after all this time.

" _Enough of this_ ," Prime hisses within her mind. He drags Adora's hand away from Catra's face, slaps her with less force than he'd hoped, which only fuels his rage as he walks her to the cliff. She sees the drop clearly now, how it seems to go on for ever.

The chip crackles with electricity again. Catra stops in her tracks, clutching at herself as the pain (from the chip, from Prime's cold presence, from the pool, from the clones, from her entire life) blazes through her.

"Come on, Catra. You've never listened to anyone in your life - are you really going to start now?" 

"You're such an idiot," Catra breathes, hoping that she's smiling wide enough to convey just how ridiculous it is that Adora - _Adora_ \- is in front of her, trying to reason with her even now. She hopes Adora knows that her blind faith is the very best thing about her. She thinks she's successful because Adora beams, tears in her eyes, still sparkling in the darkest of places. 

"Yeah! I know!" Adora cries, and she sounds so excited that Catra loses her focus on the struggle with Prime, laughing breathlessly through the pain. He slashes at her, rakes at the edges of her consciousness-

"I'm going to take you home," Adora declares.

_"You look out for me, and I look out for you. Nothing really bad can happen as long as we have each other."_

"Promise?"

_"You promise?"_

"I promise!

_"I promise."_

Adora's hand is outstretched and Catra calls her name, reaching out as far as she can to meet it, trying to push through the chatter in her mind.

 _"Enough!"_ Prime booms in her head, sending her back into that dark tunnel. The green streaks that line the smooth edges of her entrapment creep closer to her, crackling menacingly.

 _"Disappointing,"_ he remarks. _"Some creatures are destined only for destruction."_

For a moment, he lets her go. She can see Adora again, looking as confused as she feels. For a split second, she thinks that maybe, just maybe, he has lost. Then she feels those green tendrils wrap round her, sputtering and snapping, and she realises belatedly that even though she can't feel the tunnel the same way she did before, the chip is still there to deliver whatever punishment Prime sees fit.

She screams.

And she falls, further and further down into the dark abyss.


End file.
